


Fetish

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kill la Kill
Genre: Clothing, Clothing Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Nudism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aikuro has rolled over, now, and he’s not wearing anything other than the open shirt." Tsumugu comes back to his room to find Aikuro waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fetish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girijasu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=girijasu).



Tsumugu doesn’t turn on the light when he first comes into the doorway to his room. He knows where everything is anyway, he hardly needs the light for that, and the dark is faintly soothing, evidence that he can let his guard down here, at least, and just exist for a few minutes without being on high-alert.

“Did you wear that just for me, Tsumugu?”

He goes still with his combat vest still half-on his shoulders and shuts his eyes in resignation even before he reaches for the light.

“Aikuro.”

Aikuro is stretched out the wrong way around on Tsumugu’s bed, once the other man gets the light on so he can see him properly clear of the shadows. He’s flat on his stomach, knees angled so his bare feet are tracing idle patterns in the air as he swings them, and his head is resting on one hand so he can smirk at Tsumugu, still standing by the door like he’s waiting permission to come in farther.

Tsumugu grimaces at the overlarge white shirt clinging to Aikuro’s shoulders; he looks almost dressed, most of him covered by the crumpled cloth at the angle he’s lying. The larger man turns away and continues stripping off his own clothes.

“You know I don’t share your fetishes, Aikuro. What the hell are you  _wearing_?”

“A  _shirt_ ,” Aikuro says, tossing his hair back from his face. It falls back forward as soon as he returns his head to its original position, curving in front of one blue eye so he’s gazing up at Tsumugu with just the other. It’s worse, somehow, than if he had both uncovered. “Do you  _like_  it?”

“No.” Tsumugu has turned back around to watch Aikuro without even realizing it. He twists back, tosses his belt after the vest, and steadfastly refuses to turn back around in spite of the overdone way Aikuro is breathing and the sound of cloth rumpling as the other man moves.

It is distracting, though, and it takes him longer than it ought to get his pants open and off. Then, finally, he turns around, and it is in fact  _worse_  than he imagined. Aikuro has rolled over, now, and he’s not wearing anything other than the open shirt; his head is straight back, so his hair falls back from his forehead and lies dark against the pale fabric of the shirt and the brown of the sheets themselves. Tsumugu’s eyes follow the line of his throat down to his chest, his wide-flung arms and bare skin, across the lines of Aikuro’s stomach down to his hard cock, and there’s a flutter of heat along the other man’s skin even with the shirt still slung around Aikuro’s arms and wrists.

“You are such a pain, Aikuro,” Tsumugu says, but he is coming towards the bed anyway, irritation insufficient to override his desire to touch. Aikuro smiles slow and sharp, and as fast as Tsumugu touches their mouths together Aikuro is sliding his tongue past the other’s lips. His fingers come up to curl upside-down in the longer strands of Tsumugu’s hair and his back arches off the mattress like Tsumugu’s pulling magnetic at Aikuro’s body. Tsumugu has to throw a hand out to catch himself against the bed or topple forward, and Aikuro laughs into his mouth and reaches out with his free hand to trace down the other man’s stomach to his rising erection.

“You like it,” he purrs against Tsumugu’s mouth, and Tsumugu growls but can’t quite say he doesn’t, not when he lacks any sort of evidence to back up such a denial. When Aikuro’s fingers form a fist in his hair and pull he comes, climbing onto the bed for all that his balance is awkward and strained by the necessity of not crushing the body under him. They’re turned around in different directions; as Tsumugu’s weight comes onto the mattress Aikuro lets his hold on hair go so the other can keep moving and slaps his ass as it comes into reach.

Tsumugu hisses in token protest and Aikuro laughs, comes up to sitting as the other man drops to the bed and rolls over onto his back. The shirt is well off Aikuro’s shoulders but he seems determined to keep it on, looped white fabric still hanging off his wrists, and when he leans forward and reaches for Tsumugu’s face the drape of cloth drags over the other man’s body. The contact is light and fleeting, brushing like feathers over bare skin, and Tsumugu shivers in response before he can restrain it.

“Mm,” Aikuro hums, voice dropping low with resonant amusement. “I knew you’d come around.”

“I’m not,” Tsumugu starts to say, but Aikuro’s fingers are trailing along his jawline and leaving distraction in their wake, and then Aikuro comes down to press his mouth warm and wet against Tsumugu’s collarbone and the other man gasps and rocks up into the contact and forgets what he was saying.

“Ah!” He gasps, and Aikuro laughs and drags his fingers down over Tsumugu’s chest and hip and thigh to brush too-gently over his hardening length.

“You do like it.” The shirt is catching on Tsumugu’s knee and dragging against his skin, and it’s setting pale contrast with Aikuro’s tanned skin. Tsumugu is staring at the line between natural skin and unnecessary covering without realizing his eyes are centered there, and Aikuro is smiling through the long blue strands of his hair. “Don’t you?” His fingers come down between Tsumugu’s thighs and the other man angles them open without hesitation, spreads them wider to make space for Aikuro’s questing hand.

“You’re so responsive, Tsumugu,” Aikuro purrs against his skin. His fingers trail against the inside of the other mans thighs, up higher until they brush against Tsumugu’s balls. His cock jumps in reaction, Tsumugu hisses, and Aikuro laughs and rocks gentle against his thigh. “I do appreciate that about you, you know.”

“I do know.” Tsumugu reaches up to touch the wave of Aikuro’s hair, his fingers looking too big for gentleness, but hair-trigger practice makes his touch even more careful than the other man’s, and when he fits his fingers into the fall of blue Aikuro pauses in his movement and shivers and arches his back in a movement that is only half ostentatious. It makes Tsumugu smile, the expression unstudied and accidental, and Aikuro grins so his teeth are as sharp as his eyes and drags his fingers up over Tsumugu’s cock. The other man gasps and bucks his hips up against Aikuro’s questing fingers and Aikuro laughs and leans down to bite at Tsumugu’s mouth, hard enough that he comes just shy of pain.

“You are so  _fabulous_ , Tsumugu,” Aikuro murmurs, and Tsumugu can hear his name turn obscene under Aikuro’s tongue. “ _Distracting_  to look at, distracting to hear; it’s extremely hard to keep my head in the mission when I want to be in  _you_.”

“Ng,” Tsumugu grunts, coherency entirely gone, and Aikuro laughs again and pulls his hands away entirely to stretch for the stand beside the bed. Tsumugu doesn’t protest or reach up to pull him back, though he certainly could; he knows where this is going, and he doesn’t want to slow down the other man’s progression with even token resistance. When Aikuro leans back down he’s got one of his hands curled around the bottle of lube, and he trails his free fingers idly across Tsumugu’s bare chest while he works the cap open one-handed.

“You’re so... _defined_ ,” he says, still smiling sideways. His fingers trace out an X over Tsumugu’s chest, drawing from shoulder to hip in either direction. “You sure you don’t want to put your ammo belts back on? You’d look so  _good_  in just that.”

“ _No_ ,” Tsumugu hisses. “One shirt between us is more than enough, thanks.”

“Aww,” Aikuro pouts, lifting his hand from skin to catch lube across his fingers. “You’re just going to keep denying that you like it, are you?”

“You shouldn’t expect anything else from me at this point, Aikuro,” Tsumugu growls, but the strength of the statement is somewhat undermined by the way he lifts his hips in anticipation as Aikuro’s hand comes back down between his thighs. His long fingers are cold and slick, but Tsumugu is expecting the chill and doesn’t flinch, just arches up as the other’s fingers trace teasing over him.

Sometimes Aikuro is slow, taunting, makes Tsumugu wait until the other man is shaking and desperate. Sometimes he waits until he pleads for Aikuro to press into him. Tsumugu doesn’t know how long Aikuro was waiting for him to get back, but it was long enough that today is  _not_  one of his more patient days. A finger slides into him before he is expecting it, so he chokes on an inhale and has to take a moment to recollect the pattern of his breathing. Aikuro has his chin tipped down so his hair casts his face in shadow, but his eyes are sparkling bright and he’s watching Tsumugu’s face as he curls his finger gently inside the other man.

“ _So_  responsive,” he murmurs again, as if to himself, and Tsumugu can feel his face heating with self-consciousness. But Aikuro knows how to work him, and he’s no sooner flushing than that finger catches and presses sensation  _right_  where he wants it, so he gasps and rocks up before his self-awareness has time to restrain his reaction.

“Mmm,” Aikuro hums in satisfaction. He draws his finger back, thrusts in again so the motion hits exactly that spot again and Tsumugu shuts his eyes and tries not to beg. “I’ve barely even started yet and you’re going to pieces.” Another finger angles up to slide alongside the first, presses inside Tsumugu with no warning at all. Not that he needs it, the way his body is flickering heat all across the surface of his skin and radiating tension out through his shoulders and legs and stomach. Aikuro bumps up against him against and the tight-winding  _want_  snaps into pleasure for a breath, drags a moan past Tsumugu’s lips, and Aikuro laughs and leans down to kiss him again. Tsumugu opens his mouth without Aikuro even pressing, lets the other man’s tongue quest against his mouth like his fingers are teasing inside his ass, and when Tsumugu groans as Aikuro separates his fingers to open him wider he can feel the other man laugh more clearly than he can feel the jerk of Aikuro’s cock against his hip.

Aikuro is humming as he pulls away, licking his lips like he’s savoring the taste of Tsumugu on his tongue, and the other man reaches up without thinking, shoves hard at the sleeve of his shirt so it falls away from where it had caught on the jutting line of Aikuro’s shoulder. Aikuro lets him, arches his shoulder back so the fabric falls and drapes artistically, and Tsumugu groans at the fall of shadow and light over Aikuro’s skin more than from the movement of the fingers inside him.

“You like it,” Aikuro says again, the words dark and amused, and he thrusts his fingers in farther. “Say it and I’ll fuck you, Tsumugu.” His shoulders angle with the movement of his hand, collarbones coming up under his skin to cast new patterns of shadow. “Tell me you like it, Tsumugu, tell me you want my cock in your ass.”

Tsumugu groans and brings a hand up to half-cover his face, so his eyes are lost in shadow and Aikuro can only see his mouth. Not that it helps, he can feel his lips trembling even before he tries to speak and the words come out cracked. “I want -- I like it, I want you to fuck me, I want your cock in --  _fuck_ , I want your cock in my ass.”

It’s not the worst he’s said at Aikuro’s request, not by a long shot, but there’s no change in the movement of the other man’s hand, and when Tsumugu lifts his fingers to look those blue eyes are still sparkling at him from under the shadow of his hair.

“ _And_?” Aikuro’s hand is against his hip, holding him idly steady, and Tsumugu wants to touch him and pull the other man down onto him forcibly. Instead he lifts his other hand, covers his face with both palms at once, and speaks too-fast and too-loud.

“I like the shirt.”

Aikuro purrs wordless pleasure and draws his fingers free, leaving Tsumugu feeling empty and desperate even while his brain wails in anticipated delight, adrenaline shooting fire under his skin. His hands come down, self-consciousness totally insufficient to prevent him watching Aikuro slick himself up, and the other man makes a show of it, arches back over his feet until Tsumugu is sure he’ll topple straight over backward. He doesn’t, of course, just maintains that improbable angle while he slides one slippery hand over the length of his cock and drags the other through his hair, tips his head up so the light hits the dip of his throat and the pools of shadow in his collarbones, and Tsumugu comes up on an elbow to reach for that involuntarily. Aikuro’s chin comes down so he can grin, his weight comes forward over his knees so he can press up against the fingers dragging over his stomach and brushing over his nipples, and then he lets go of himself and comes sideways to fit himself between Tsumugu’s legs. Aikuro’s hips are narrow but Tsumugu still has trouble spreading his legs wide enough to fit the other man between them. Aikuro catches one hand under Tsumugu’s knee and pushes up and back until the other man’s ankle is hooked over his shoulder, pinning his shirt in place.

Aikuro lines himself up without looking down, keeping his eyes fixed on Tsumugu, and his smile doesn’t so much as waver as he slowly slides forward inside the other man. Tsumugu has significantly less self-control; he arches, and hisses at almost-too-much pressure, but he’s rocking up into it too, craving the dig of Aikuro’s body against and inside him.

They both go still for a moment once they’re together, Tsumugu to take a breath and Aikuro to laugh to himself. Then Aikuro draws back, and Tsumugu sighs just before the other comes forward to thrust into him and the slow exhale turns into a grunt of satisfaction. Aikuro’s damn shirt is pinned between his shoulder and Tsumugu’s ankle, and the other sleeve is so far down bare arm that it’s bunched around Aikuro’s wrist and he has to flick his arm to get it back up over his shoulder so he can bring his hand forward to stroke too-gently over Tsumugu’s cock.

Tsumugu groans, and Aikuro thrusts into him again and laughs sharp and delighted. Tsumugu can feel the movement all through his body, like he’s echoing back the other man’s movement straight through his skin and bones, and he would shut his eyes if Aikuro weren’t looking at him with his eyes dark and sharp enough to draw blood.

“Touch me,” Aikuro orders, and Tsumugu reaches up instantly, stretches far to brush his fingers over the blue of Aikuro’s hair and draws his fingers slow all down the skin half-covered by fabric. His fingers clutch at a handful of shirtfront, pulls hard so the cloth stretches tight over Aikuro’s back, and the other man laughs again and leans back to counterbalance the pull. That pushes his hips farther forward, shifts the angle enough that Tsumugu groans and rocks up for  _more_ , and Aikuro smiles and says, “Yes,” as if Tsumugu’s spoken aloud, and comes forward harder on the next thrust.

Tsumugu has significantly more mass than Aikuro, but as the smaller man increase the pace and strength of his thrusts Tsumugu starts to slide backward, until he has throw his hand up to brace them both against the wall over his head. Aikuro purrs in satisfaction and comes forward harder, so Tsumugu’s attention falters into an involuntary moan and his hips come up off the mattress entirely, weight balanced between his shoulders and the leg half-over Aikuro’s shoulder. His shoulder is twisted up and too tense with the effort of holding them both still, but Aikuro is coming forward hard enough that Tsumugu can feel the jolt all up through his arm, and more importantly he can feel each thrust rippling pleasure higher through his veins and there is nothing at all that would convince him to tell Aikuro to stop at this point. The other man’s fingers are curled around his length, jerking him off in time with the motion of the other’s cock into him, and Tsumugu’s not sure which is pushing him forward faster and, really, it doesn’t matter anyway, because Aikuro’s gaze is finally blurring into softness and his hand bracing against Tsumugu’s leg is clenching convulsively so the larger man is ready for the break when it comes. Aikuro thrusts forward and grimaces even as his eyes shut under the press of orgasm, Tsumugu can feel the fingers of both his hands flutter uncontrolled against his cock and his thigh and he can feel the other man’s cock pulsing heat into him. It’s almost enough, it’s  _so close_  to enough, so when Aikuro sighs in relief Tsumugu moans, desperation and pleading both underlying the sound. Aikuro blinks his eyes open, and laughs again, and Tsumugu feels that vibration through his body even before Aikuro pulls his hand hard over Tsumugu’s length. His orgasm hits him before he’s expecting it, while he’s still halfway to reaching up to brace himself again, so when he spasms with uncontrolled pleasure he shifts against the sheets and Aikuro has to throw out his free hand to grab his shoulder and hold him steady.

Aikuro’s still laughing when he gasps his way back to steady vision. There’s come across his chest and over Aikuro’s shirt -- which he never  _did_  take off -- and Tsumugu goes limp and languid over his bed as Aikuro lets his shoulder go and slides back out of him. He leans down for a kiss and Tsumugu turns his head in for it; this time it’s Aikuro who parts his lips first, like an invitation, and Tsumugu carefully slides his tongue into the other man’s mouth, tastes the faint spice and shadowy heat of Aikuro’s mouth before the other pulls away, dragging his sticky fingers deliberately through Tsumugu’s hair.

“You’re a mess,” he observes, leaning back and sliding off the edge of the bed. Tsumugu tips his head to look at him and Aikuro glances back, smiles, and arches his shoulders back so his shirt slides down and, finally, off to the floor. “You should really get cleaned up, don’t you think?” Tsumugu laughs then, low and satisfied and amused, and Aikuro tips his head back and holds his hand out.

After a moment, Tsumugu takes a breath, and pushes up on his elbows, and takes it.


End file.
